


Family Outing

by Rod



Category: Big Wolf on Campus, due South
Genre: Cousins, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rod/pseuds/Rod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray Kowalski is strong-armed into attending the graduation ceremony of his godson and first cousin once removed, Merton Dingle. He and Fraser promptly become involved in a robbery investigation, as do Merton and Tommy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** All things _due South_ are claimed by Paul Haggis, Paul Gross and Alliance Atlantis. _Big Wolf on Campus_ is the property of Big Wolf III Productions and Cinegroupe Images. Earl Candleton comes from Steven King's _Kingdom Hospital_ , and was played by Callum Keith Rennie on screen.

Benton Fraser paused as he entered the squad room and carefully considered how to approach his unofficial partner. It wasn't that he could hear Ray Kowalski's phone conversation from the far side of the room, that was normal enough; a fully wound up Ray could be heard from a considerable distance even in Chicago's noisy environment, though possibly that was due to the amount of attention Fraser spent on so doing. No, what made Fraser take stock of the situation was the note of desperation in Ray's voice.

"Mom, you know I love you, but that's above and beyond the... no Mom, I don't hate her. Just as long as she's over there and I'm over here we get on fine. Look... Jeez, Mom, you make me sound like something out of a bad movie. OK, OK, it was a good movie, but still it's not like I'm religious or nothing."

Ray's eyes found Fraser's across the office and he waved him across urgently. "Hey Frase, ain't there something about godparents being supposed to be religious?"

Fraser blinked. "I believe the duties of a godparent generally include a commitment to bring the child up in the Christian faith. A friend of my grandparents did describe herself as an atheist-mother, but she was generally regarded as being a little strange."

"See Mom, even Fraser says I can't be a proper godfather." Fraser opened his mouth to disagree, but Ray's mother seemed to have got there first. "OK, maybe that's not exactly what he said, but... I only met the kid the once, and he was still in diapers. Heck, I wasn't that old... Of course I sent him birthday cards, you think Stella would let me forget something like that?"

Fraser watched as Ray sank lower and lower in his chair. Clearly when it came to talking her son into doing a family duty over his express objections, Mrs Kowalski was in the same league as Ma Vecchio. Fraser felt safe in placing a consoling hand on Ray's shoulder as the phone call ended; Detectives Huey and Dewey had already begun openly snickering at Ray's abject defeat, and would expect some gesture of the sort from him in any case.

Ray looked up wearily. "Frase, never let your family know that you've got vacation time coming up."

Fraser's face never flickered; he knew full well that Ray wouldn't deliberately bring up his lack of family, and this was no time to add further to his burden of guilt by reminding him. Besides, the small matter of being dead never seemed to stop Fraser's father from trying to rearrange his life. Quite the reverse, he now took much more interest in Fraser's social engagements than he ever had while alive.

"Your mother has your itinerary fully planned?" he asked.

Ray rolled his eyes. "Seems that my cousin's oldest kid is just about to graduate from high school. Since yours truly was strong-armed into being his godfather way back when I was stupid, I have to go and congratulate Junior on his escape."

That didn't seem so awful to Fraser. True, he had looked forward to having Ray's undivided attention during his time away from work, but spending a few hours attending a graduation ceremony seemed like a small price to pay. Ray was most likely merely feeling depressed at having his plans disrupted by his mother at all, so Fraser concluded that an ego-building diversion was in order.

"I find it hard to imagine you ever being stupid," he said. "Your approach to life has always seemed more uniquely creative."

"I wasn't even out of high school myself at the time," Ray told him morosely. "I just thought it would be something cool to impress Stella with."

"I imagine you succeeded."

The way Ray's eyes unfocused as he grinned supported Fraser's assertion. However the distraction was short-lived. "Yeah, I succeeded in getting sentenced to Bumfuck, Minnesota for the duration."

Fraser blinked. That meant enough travel to take Ray away from Chicago for several days, which was most definitely not consistent with their original plans. For one thing, it meant hours of driving during which Fraser felt it inadvisable to distract Ray as he had intended. However, he was a great believer that when you are presented with dead caribou, you should make caribou jerky.

"It's not all bad, Ray. I understand that there is some excellent camping in the state, particularly around the lakes, and—"

"Oh no you don't. This is all part of some plan of yours to get me in the Great Outdoors again, ain't it? I told you before, Frase, me and Nature don't get along. You want to be a naturist, you do it on your own time."

Fraser stopped the thoughts that engendered before their effects became obvious. "That's 'naturalist', Ray, though perhaps you meant—"

"I meant it's my vacation, and I say we do it somewhere that has beds."

"Right you are, Ray."

"Besides, Mom already arranged for me to stay with cousin Mabel, so you can just get that thought out of your head."

"Which thought would that be?"

"The one that involves this being any fun at all, that's the one."

"Oh."

"Is that all you've got to say, oh?"

"Well, I am surprised to find that there really is a town of that name."

"What name, Frase?"

Fraser never fell for it for an instant; Ray looked far too smug. He decided that it was time to hone what Ray referred to as his Prim And Proper Mountie Evasiveness. "The name that you used earlier, Ray."

"Come on, say it Mountie Man."

"I fail to see why, you know exactly to what I am referring." Once again, Fraser silently blessed the hours of long training that allowed him to say that with a completely straight face.

Ray smirked.

"I also know what your intentions for this evening were," Fraser continued, leaving the implicit threat hanging.

Ray capitulated. "It's real name is Pleasantville, but what kind of a name is that for a town?"

"A pleasant one, Ray." Fraser forbore to comment on the type of name that Bumfuck might be considered to be.

Ray glared at him. "I mean, you might as well call the place Boringsville or Deadsville. Nobody who wants anything like a social life is gonna go to some place called Pleasantville."

"I dare say that depends on the sort of social life one might want."

"Leave me out of the sewing circles, OK? That place has to be bad juju for names."

Fraser blinked again. "In what way?"

"Can you think of another reason why cousin Mabel would marry a guy named Dingle? Or why she'd stick Junior with Merton, fer God's sake?"

"Perhaps she liked the name," Fraser said in tones that suggested that Ray was a fine one to talk.

This time, Stanley Raymond Kowalski really glared at him.

*****

In the end they left the wolf behind. It wasn't that Ray had any objection to Diefenbaker coming with, hell he was pretty fond of the furry guy as long as he kept his snout out of Ray's doughnuts. He had even looked forward to siccing Dief on cousin Mabel, who was bound to have a fit at having anything so theoretically dangerous in her house.

Unfortunately, Fraser had gone away and done a little research on Boringsville. Normally, Ray loved that Mountie preparedness; he never had to worry about running out of lube or condoms, though how Fraser managed to buy such things without blushing hard enough to heat half of Chicago he'd never know. This time, however, Fraser had discovered that the whole town seemed to have this bizarro fascination with werewolves, and decided that adding a real wolf to the mix was just asking for trouble. Ray didn't see how this differed from normal Fraser Operating Procedure, but he and Dief lost that argument.

Which is how come he was sitting in cousin Mabel's living room trying to make small talk with her jerk of a husband, while she succumbed to the Fraser charms and he had no furry distraction to hand. At least her objections to putting both of them up for the duration had disappeared the moment she got a good look at the Mountie. Sometimes Ray swore that the whole polite routine was just a cover for his devious partner to get exactly what he wanted.

Like now. "It's no bother, really," Fraser was saying. "I brought my bed-roll along, and to be honest I'm more used to sleeping on it than in a real bed. Also Ray and I have been camping on many occasions, so sharing a bedroom with him really won't cause us any problems."

Ray recalled their most recent expedition into the wilds and exactly how they'd solved the problems of sex in zipped-together sleeping bags. He brightened considerably. "You might as well give up now," he advised his cousin. "He's a Canadian, you can't out-polite him."

Mabel glared at him briefly, before turning a charming smile back on Fraser. "If you're sure," she said dubiously. "It would be no trouble to make up a bed for you."

Fraser matched her smile for smile. "I appreciate your offer, but as an unexpected guest I couldn't possibly ask you to put yourself out like that."

Ray suppressed a shudder. Fraser was going to be the most interesting thing that Deadsville had seen in the last decade. If half the women in town didn't want to put out for him, Ray would eat the sacred Stetson.

Spencer, Mabel's husband, apparently felt that he'd been ignored for long enough. "How did you come to meet Stanley, Mr Fraser."

Ray bristled. He was almost positive that meant 'what's a nice guy like you doing with a jerk like him?' "That's Constable Fraser, Spence," he said with an utterly fake smile. "It's a long story."

The Dingles ignored him.

Fraser's smile never slipped. "I'm sorry, I failed to introduce myself properly. Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Pleased to meet you. I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers, and for reasons which as Ray has intimated are somewhat lengthy I remained attached to the Canadian Consulate. As part of my duties I liaise with the Chicago Police Department, and have become something of an unofficial partner to Ray."

"Please, do tell," Mabel practically cooed. "I want to hear all about what you and Ray do together. He never tells us anything."

Ray stood abruptly; there was no way he was going to keep a straight face much longer with the thought dancing in his head of cousin Mabel finding out exactly what they did together in their off time. "I've heard all this before, so why don't I go say hello to Junior? Which room's he got?"

Fraser shot him a look normally reserved for discovering sugar on Dief's whiskers, but Mabel got in first. " _Merton's_ bedroom is in the basement."

Ray blinked. "You keep your kid in the basement?" he asked, incredulously.

"He picked it himself," Spencer told him with a shrug.

"It does have its own access," Fraser pointed out.

Ray nodded thoughtfully. A way in and out not under immediate parental control, something he could have done with at the same age. "Smart kid," he said. "Well, I'll leave you folks to your gossip and go congratulate the hero of the hour."

Ignoring the pleading glances Fraser kept throwing at him, Ray sauntered off to find his way down to Junior's lair. It didn't take him long to find the right door, marked as it was as the property of Merton Dingle and decorated with suitably teenage blood-curdling threats as to what would happen if his little sister ever poked her nose in. Sympathising briefly with the kid for having to put up with a Mabelette, Ray was about to barge in with his usual subtlety when it occurred to him what he had been doing on the night before Graduation. Or rather what he and Stella had been doing. Maybe he'd better check before terminally embarrassing both of them, he thought, and pressed an ear to the door.

"...know he's not another werewolf hunter?" a voice said mildly hysterically.

"Merton, he's your godfather, he's just here for Graduation." The second voice was also male and young, and Ray could practically hear the roll of the eyes that went with it.

"But why now?" Hysterical Lad — obviously Junior — insisted. "He's never even been near here before, and he's supposed to be a cop. And he brought a friend, someone my parents don't know. They could be sneaking around, listening at the door right now."

Ray stepped smartly away from the door, just in case. He had his answer, and Junior sounded like the kind of kid who might well open the door and check on general principles. With a Mabelette around, that might even be the smart thing to do.

When three or four seconds passed without any rattling of the doorknob, Ray decided he might as well make his entrance. He knocked loudly and yelled "You decent in there?" before pushing the door open and walking in.

He was met by two boys and one of the more bizarrely decorated rooms that he'd ever seen, which from someone in the Chicago PD was saying something. Black was the dominant colour, decorated by a variety of what Ray could only call weird shit. And a computer. Not that the computer was decoration, but it was getting on for the only normal thing in the room. Even the books exuded weird, and probably math or something else unhealthy.

It wasn't hard to tell which of the boys was Merton; the black clothing and spiky hair went with the room too well to be an accident. He appeared to have inherited the Kowalski family physique, and hadn't put on enough muscle to look good in it.

The mystery friend was interesting, though. He was a tall jock strutting around in his letterman jacket, the sort that looked good and knew it. Also not the sort that Ray expected to see around his godson. In Ray's experience, jocks tended to stick with other jocks, and being seen with someone as nerdy or geeky or whatever this year's word was as Merton was social death. Unless bullying or drugs were going down, the two groups didn't mix. Given how embarrassed his godson looked to be caught with the jock, Ray's suspicions were instantly aroused.

Ray consciously relaxed as he walked in on them. No sense in getting them all worked up about him; well, more than they already were. "Hi," he said more or less straight to Merton. "I'm Ray Kowalski, your godfather. Nice to meet'cha, Junior."

"My name is Merton," the kid insisted. He pushed between Ray and his friend, his body language way more protective than Ray had expected. What the hell was up with these two?

"And you admit to it? Me, I got stuck with Stanley on account of my parents being big Brando fans, but that don't mean I gotta use it."

"What is your middle name anyway?" the jock asked. Merton mumbled something. "Pardon?"

"I said 'Jedediah', now can we change the subject please?"

Mountie politeness was clearly contagious, because somehow Ray managed not to laugh. He had forgotten exactly what his not so beloved cousin had burdened her son with. Poor kid. "Yeah," he said after a moment, once he could trust himself not to snicker, "what's your name, laughing boy?"

The jock, who to be fair hadn't actually laughed as such, gave him the sort of brilliant smile Ray was only used to seeing on Mounties and other unreal people. "Sorry, I should have said earlier. I'm Tommy Dawkins, one of Merton's classmates. Pleased to meet you."

"Right back at ya," Ray said. He settled himself on a chair without waiting for the invitation he was pretty sure wasn't coming. "So, tomorrow's the big day, huh? You got a big celebration planned?"

Tommy nodded affably, stifling whatever response Merton was going to make with a quick glance. "There's a big party on down at the Factory, everyone's going to be there."

Ray smiled back. "Sounds pretty much like my graduation day, as much as I can remember. 'Cept I did a bit of premature celebrating the previous night with my girlfriend, if you know what I mean."

The smile slipped momentarily, to be replaced by a grin. If Ray hadn't been a cop for so many years, he might not have noticed the way that grin was slightly strained. "I thought I'd keep Merton company tonight. The old Bela Lugosi version of _Dracula_ is on TV later, and we both love horror movies."

"I'd never have guessed," Ray said drily, looking round the gothic-themed room.

"Do you want to watch too," Tommy asked, earning himself a scowl from Merton.

"Nah." Ray waved the offer away, but smiled as he did it. No point offending the jock until he actually wanted to. "My parents gave me this allergy to old movies, and I see enough badness on the job anyway."

"What did you come down here for, Uncle Ray?" Merton said bluntly.

Ray winced. His godson sounded really hacked off about something, and even smiling boy looked concerned. "Less of the 'uncle', huh? It makes me feel old. 'Sides, I'm not your uncle, I'm your..." What had Fraser called it? Oh yes, "Your cousin once removed. Don't ask what's removed, I was scared they'd tell me. Just call me Ray."

Tommy laughed with him, but Merton seemed unaffected by the Kowalski charm. "Only I was looking forward to watching the film with Tommy, and it's about to start, so if you don't mind...?"

"You'd really like for me to go now, OK, I get it." Ray bounced to his feet, his smile about as genuine as his godson's. "Congratulations on surviving high school, the both of you. Don't stay up too late, you've got a hard day's partying ahead."

The boys both escorted him to the door, and Ray was struck again with how much easier going the total stranger seemed than his godson. Not that Merton wasn't practically a total stranger, except for the birthday cards, but it just went to prove what he always said to Fraser.

The collective noun for Kowalskis was a 'hassle'.

******

Tommy boggled, but recovered quickly. Seeing Pleasantville High's corridors full of his classmates in caps and gowns was odd enough, but the guy in the eye-smiting red uniform staring in a puzzled manner at the trophy case was just plain weird. What the heck was a Mountie doing here? Had Principal Dellinger got him in as a guest speaker or something?

"Frase, it's Candleton's Glove!" It took a moment for Tommy to place the awed voice, then he noticed Merton's Uncle Ray almost plastered to the glass. That answered one question, but raised plenty of others. The Mountie was with him, Merton had mentioned something about Uncle Ray bringing a friend, but what had a Mountie been doing in Chicago in the first place?

"I read the inscription, Ray, I am simply unfamiliar with the cultural reference."

While Merton's uncle spluttered, Tommy made a quick decision. He really didn't think there was anything to Merton's suspicions, but just in case the pair had an ulterior motive he might as well take the opportunity to exercise a little of the old Dawkins charm in their direction. If he was lucky, he'd get to smooth the feathers Merton must have ruffled last night.

"Earl Candleton," he said as he walked up, "grew up in Pleasantville before he moved out to Maine. That's the glove he used to make the catch that won the Robins the World Series. Hello again," he added to Mr Kowalski, who was nodding vigorously.

"Hi, kid. This is a serious piece of baseball history you've got here." Kowalski turned back to the case, clearly very taken with Pleasantville's solitary piece of sporting memorabilia. "Nice of the guy to donate it back to his old high school."

"Is Pleasantville particularly noted for its baseball players?" the Mountie asked, sounding a little perplexed.

"Not really," Tommy admitted. "We're more of a football school, though I wouldn't say we were exactly noted for it."

"It's very modest of you to say so, given how many trophies you've acquired this year. You must be very proud to be the team captain."

Tommy must have looked puzzled himself, because the Mountie gestured towards the display case where the team photos were prominently displayed. Boy, did that guy have an eye for detail. He smiled. "Yeah, it's been a really great year for us. Are you a baseball fan then?" It was just about possible that a Canadian fan might not bother remembering Candleton.

"I was required to become better informed in the course of a case Ray and I worked on," he said, then looked somewhat chagrined. "Where are my manners? Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, at your service. Of course you've met my unofficial partner, Detective Ray Kowalski." There was a snort from Kowalski, who seemed to be ignoring them in favour of the glove. Fraser leaned in closer as they shook hands. "My apologies," he said confidentially, "but I seem to have offended Ray's sense of propriety."

Kowalski sighed. "Frase, in this country we have these things called beds."

"As I told your cousin, I find my bed-roll to be perfectly comfortable."

"Yeah, but I don't."

"You were in the bed, Ray."

Kowalski actually turned around at that and gave Fraser an incredulous look. "One of these days, you and me are gonna have a conversation about what's buddies and what's not."

"Acknowledged, Ray."

Apparently this meant something to the pair of them, but Tommy was just plain confused. Were they actually trying to keep something from him, or did they just have the same sort of verbal shorthand that he'd begun developing with Merton?

"I'm still uncertain as to why Mr Candleton would donate his glove back to his old school," Fraser continued. "Wouldn't his team have regarded it extremely highly?"

Tommy shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, it's nice to have it, but it would mean a whole lot more to the Robins."

"Admiring our prize possession?" a jovial voice boomed out. Tommy turned to see Principal Dellinger arrive, beaming with nearly offensive levels of good humour at them all. Marsden trailed along in his wake like some sort of bad-tempered dog, making sure that everyone could see the 'Security Guard' patch on his shirt. Tommy tried not to roll his eyes; for all that he and Merton had spent months sneaking in and out of school at all hours, they'd never once seen Marsden doing any actual security guarding. While that was good for the pair of them, it made Tommy nostalgic for the days before Hugo Bostwick married and moved out of town. At least Hugo had been a challenge. Sometimes. Once or twice.

Constable Fraser moved forward to shake the Principal warmly by the hand. "Indeed we were, sir," he said, flashing a smile that made Dellinger's look positively sickly in comparison. "Tommy here was just telling us about it. You must be immensely proud to have such a valuable piece of baseball memorabilia in your possession."

Something in the way he said that made Kowalski pry himself away from the glass. "Yeah," he said, "you take good care of this."

It wasn't a question, but Dellinger chose to take it as such. "We do indeed," he said pompously. "Mr Marsden considers it to be his primary duty, don't you?"

Marsden grunted. Which was at least more than his usual scowl, Tommy thought.

"One can never be too careful," Fraser said, still smiling, "especially on a day like today."

Dellinger looked at him sharply. "You have a particular reason to suspect that someone might try something today?"

Fraser shrugged. "I merely thought that with all the celebrations going on, there was a chance that youthful exuberance might lead to some undesirable consequences." God, had the man swallowed a dictionary, Tommy wondered? "In addition, there is a full moon tonight."

Tommy tried very hard not to react. He needn't have bothered; Fraser had his eyes locked on Principal Dellinger, who had paled slightly.

It was Kowalski who broke the moment. "C'mon Frase," he said disgustedly, "don't tell me you're falling for this... stuff."

Fraser turned back to him, an easy smile still in place. "There are a number of psychological papers demonstrating that some people's emotional states are strongly affected by the lunar cycle, Ray. The word 'lunacy' was not coined lightly."

Kowalski turned away dismissively. "Whatever," he said.

Dellinger harrumphed. "You can be assured, gentlemen, that we are taking every precaution to keep Earl Candleton's gift safe. I may only have been in post for the last year, but I guarantee you that my guardianship will be no less vigilant than that of my predecessors. Now, aren't you supposed to be assembling with the graduating class, Dawkins?"

"Yes, sir." Tommy took the hint and headed off. What the hell had that been about, he wondered. It almost seemed like Constable Fraser had been warning the Principal about something. Whatever it was, it had put Merton's uncle on edge as well.

Something was definitely up.

******

Merton adjusted his gown again, thanking God it was at least black, then settled back in his seat and pretended to listen to Lori give the valedictorian speech. He doubted that Tommy, sitting next to him, was fooled for a moment.

Oh, he wasn't jealous or anything. So what if Lori had turned out to have brains as well as beauty, Tommy still loved him for his... something. Merton wasn't entirely sure what, but he did. It was like some gigantic divine apology for making Merton a screw-up in every other area of life; he might not be strong, or tough, or on occasion sane, but he had the most perfect boyfriend in the history of ever.

Not that he was taking it for granted, no siree. Merton knew he wasn't the world's greatest catch, so he always took pains to make sure Tommy knew just how much he meant to him. And OK, yeah, maybe that did make Merton a bit oversensitive to threats to Tommy, but then threats to Tommy were serious stuff. If anyone ever found out that he was the Pleasantville Werewolf, then Tommy's life would turn into one big round of being poked and prodded and Merton might never see him again.

Which lead his thoughts back to Uncle Ray and his weird friend. What was he doing down here now? He'd never been before, never showed the slightest bit of interest in Merton unless you counted the birthday cards, and personally Merton didn't give his uncle any points for scrawling "Happy Birthday, Junior" in a cheap card every year. No, there had to be something other than Graduation behind Uncle Ray's appearance, and that pretty much automatically meant werewolf hunting round these parts.

Then there was Mr Fraser. Constable Fraser. Whatever. What the heck was a Mountie doing in the US of A at all, never mind hanging out with Merton's uncle? There were still wolves in Canada, Merton knew that much. Maybe this guy was Uncle Ray's tame wolf expert, or possibly wild wolf expert, or something, and he'd been brought along to help catch Tommy. It all made perfect sense, and Merton had to stop himself panicking and dragging Tommy into hiding there and then.

That made it all the more important that nobody suspected a thing when Tommy didn't show at the Factory this evening. It was sheer bad luck that Graduation Day coincided with a full moon, and particularly in the party atmosphere Tommy couldn't guarantee to keep himself under control enough not to wolf out. Fortunately, Merton had a Plan.

For some reason, Tommy didn't entirely go for The Plan, though. Merton didn't see why not, it was completely foolproof. All they had to do was announce that they were an item and spend the entire afternoon crawling all over each other, and no one would think twice when they didn't show. OK, maybe 'snuggling' hadn't been the right word to use when he had tried selling The Plan to Tommy, not that they didn't spend a lot of evenings doing just that. And maybe Tommy had a point about T'n'T being stupid enough to try beating Merton up over them being a couple at a time when Tommy would be too wolfy to risk being seen, but that was a minor detail. Overall, Merton thought it had a lot of good features as plans went. Especially the snuggling.

He was brought back to Earth by a sharp finger jabbing him in the ribs. Merton glared at Tommy for a moment before he realised that Lori was entering the closing straight of her speech. And Merton had been hanging around Tommy way too long if he was starting to think in sports metaphors like that.

"Every one of us has made some contribution to the life of this school," Lori was saying. "Every one of us has done something or been something special, whether it's been on the football team or in the science lab or even just making unexpected friends." She smiled at Tommy and Merton, who couldn't help but smile back. "And every one of us has grown up, getting ourselves ready for life beyond high school. That's the real success of Pleasantville High. That..."

A bell began ringing.

For a moment there was silence, then pandemonium broke out as students ran for the fire exits, pushing and shoving to get outside and away from danger as quickly as possible. Principal Dellinger stood to shout for calm, but was ignored as per usual.

"...isn't the fire bell," Lori finished, quietly puzzled.

Tommy and Merton stopped dead, leaving the rest of the class to stream around them. If it wasn't the fire alarm, that meant... "Burglar alarm," Merton said. He looked at Tommy and knew they were both thinking the same thing: Candleton's Glove. They turned together, moving against the tide to get out to where the display cases were.

A flash of red caught Merton's attention, and he saw his uncle and the Mountie slip out of the hall ahead of them. Somehow he wasn't surprised; in Pleasantville there was no such thing as coincidence.

Whatever was going on, Uncle Ray was hip deep in it.


	2. Chapter 2

The thing that Benton Fraser really loved about Ray Kowalski — well, one of the many things, along with his natural grace, his expressive hands, his wiry strength, and perhaps completeness in this matter was not helping his thought processes after all — was that he was a policeman with his whole heart. It wasn't simply a job with Ray, it was something that he was. In that way he was exactly the same as Fraser; neither of them could any more breathe water than allow a crime to go uninvestigated.

The broken trophy case in front of them indicated a crime that Ray seemed to take as a personal insult, given his earlier interest. "I mean, where do people get off doing something like this?" he asked. He was crouched down, staring at the space where Earl Candleton's gift to his old high school had lain. "Sure it's worth a lot of money, but this is a school they're stealing it from, fer crissakes."

Fraser was momentarily distracted by the sight in front of him. Ray had complained endlessly about having to wear a suit to the graduation ceremony, aware that his cousin seemed only too eager to report any lapse of protocol to his mother. He had fidgeted from the moment he put it on, telling anyone that would listen that it made him look like an underweight gorilla. At this moment, while his concentration on the case took his mind off his sartorial discomfort, Ray looked truly elegant to Fraser.

A moment's distraction was all Fraser allowed himself, though, before joining his partner in the search for evidence. "Well, Ray, I have noticed that the criminal mind has a tendency to regard money as more important than the welfare of others, as well as a regrettable habit of undervaluing education."

Ray rolled his eyes. "That was a ret... retro... retard... I knew that, Frase."

Fraser was morally certain that Ray knew the word 'rhetorical' perfectly well, and decided against rising to the bait for once. "The thief could reasonably have expected not to encounter anyone in the corridor today, with the exception of the security guard. Logically therefore whoever it was must have either been someone the guard would not be suspicious of, or confident of their ability to bypass or neutralise him."

"I'm thinking it's an inside job," Ray said.

Fraser blinked. Much as he trusted his partner, Ray's intuitive leaps regularly confused him. "Why so?" he asked.

"How far away are the exits?"

Fraser studied the corridor. "Too far for comfort," he admitted. "The thief would have had to have been someone who could blend in to the confusion. Unless..."

They both looked at the ceiling. "Nope," Ray said, "it's solid. I win."

"It seems to be a sound theory."

"Sound, ha. I'm right and you know it."

"I know no such thing, Ray, I merely— Principal Dellinger, Mr Marsden, I'm afraid to tell you that that you been burgled."

Fraser had noted earlier that the Principal had a penchant for the dramatic, so he was not overly surprised when the man's eyes widened and he gasped out "The Glove!" At least he hadn't clasped at his heart. Marsden, by contrast, merely looked unpleasant. Fraser mentally berated himself for being so dismissive of them both; they had at least had the sense to arrive relatively swiftly at the scene of the crime.

Dellinger recovered himself enough to take notice of the way that Ray was carefully scrutinising the scene. "Please don't touch anything before the police get here, Mr... uh..."

"Detective," Ray corrected him, flashing his badge fast enough that the other men were unlikely to notice just how far out of his jurisdiction he was. Fraser admired the adroitness of the manoeuvre and the determination to maintain the right that lay behind it, but couldn't help feeling that it was at the very least impolite for Ray to assume control.

"Detective Ray Kowalski," Ray continued, smiling broadly, "and this here Mountie is Constable Benton Fraser, whose story you really don't wanna hear at this junction."

"Juncture, Ray," Fraser murmured automatically.

"I... oh. I see." This seemed to have derailed the Principal again. He visibly retreated into himself to regroup, a detail that Fraser found quite intriguing.

Marsden spoke up at last. "Real convenient, you being here today," he said nastily. Ray bristled at the unwelcome implications in that tone, and seemed ready to let his temper loose on the hapless guard.

"It was a very lucky coincidence," Fraser interrupted diplomatically. "We originally attended to mark the graduation of Detective Kowalski's first cousin once removed, but when we noted the alarm that sounded was not the fire alarm, we thought it prudent to—"

"How did you know it wasn't the fire alarm?" Marsden sounded frankly disbelieving now, and while it didn't excuse his rudeness, Fraser considered it adequate reason not to bother mentioning the matter.

"I familiarised myself with the evacuation procedure before entering the hall," he said instead. It always amazed him that Americans seemed so surprised that anyone would take such basic precautions. "The notice stated clearly that the fire alarm is signalled by an interrupted ringing, cycling roughly once a second."

"One moment," Dellinger said, finally catching up with proceedings. "Detective Kowalski, your cousin is one of our graduating class?"

"Yup," Ray said proudly.

"Once removed," Fraser felt compelled to add, for the avoidance of confusion. "Here he is now." By one of those coincidences that Fraser was beginning to regard as commonplace, Merton Dingle had chosen that moment to appear in the corridor, dragging his friend with him.

"Junior, what are you doing here?" Ray didn't sound terribly impressed with his cousin's appearance. Fraser wasn't sure why; young Merton appeared to be a resourceful person who was at least more familiar with the school and its staff than they were, and having been in the graduation ceremony was unlikely to have had any part in the theft itself.

"We saw you heading this way, Uncle Ray. We thought maybe you could use some help."

Ah. Fraser didn't miss the slight stress on the word 'Uncle'. This would be another round of the Kowalski family fight for informality on their own terms. Fraser had witnessed a previous round over breakfast and thought it wise not to mention how curiously endearing he found it. Ray and Merton were really too similar for the good of anyone nearby.

Fraser may have had sufficient training not to roll his eyes at this dominance contest, but Tommy Dawkins clearly hadn't. He was smiling, though, so Fraser chose to take this as a good sign. Indeed, judging from the amused glance they exchanged, Dawkins had much the same opinion of the Ray and Merton's antics. Fraser made a mental note that he had a potential ally in the gentle art of steering his partner.

"Anyways," Ray was saying to the Principal, "could you answer some questions 'bout the security here?" He seemed to have the complete attention of Dellinger, Marsden and Merton, so Fraser turned his attention back to the display cabinet. He had faith in Ray's investigative technique, as well as a healthy respect for Ray's godson's intelligence. Between the two of them, they were unlikely to miss anything important.

Dawkins joined him. "They just did a smash and grab?" he asked quietly.

"So it would seem."

"That's not exactly subtle."

Fraser looked at Dawkins curiously.

"I mean," Tommy continued, "when you see something like this on TV, the thief always cuts this neat hole in the glass and gets away without setting off the alarms. And why did they only swipe the Glove, not any of our trophies?"

"Excellent questions," Fraser replied, staring at the shattered glass thoughtfully. The school's full complement of silverware was still in place, and while they were not individually all that valuable, he would have expected at least one or two to be taken in a normal theft of this nature.

"There's no blood on the glass," he said, "so our thief at least took some precautions. Even so, there is a certain amount of glass lying outside the case rather than inside... hello." He bent down to retrieve a small clod of dirt from the floor. "This must have fallen from the thief's clothing."

"How can you tell?" Tommy asked.

"It was lying on top of the broken glass." Fraser lifted the dirt to his nose, took an experimental sniff and jerked his face away. "There's something extremely pungent embedded in this," he said, surprised.

He was just about to take a careful taste when Ray barked, "Fraser!" Fraser looked up at him, and knew exactly how their argument would go. Ray would express disgust at his habit of licking things. He would then protest that a simple taste analysis would help him to identify the foreign element in this sample of earth. Ray would promptly point out that the police had laboratories for that sort of thing these days, and would then play his trump card; no way was Fraser's tongue going to get anywhere near Ray's if he tasted that dirt, not until he'd bleached his mouth out. Since the only things that Fraser considered safe to be taken orally that Ray also considered to be adequately cleansing tasted quite disgusting, Fraser merely sighed and accepted the delay in their enquiries. Really, he was going to have to educate Ray in the art of taste-testing as part of an investigative procedure.

Sometimes there were disadvantages to knowing someone too well.

"May I?" Tommy asked. Fraser passed the dirt over and watched as Tommy took a careful sniff, sneezed and sat back on his haunches, blinking. "Wow," he said eventually. "That stinks."

Fraser grinned at him, pleased to have found someone who was at least willing to consider such basic identification techniques in the US. "Do you recognise the smell?"

Tommy shook his head and blinked some more. "It feels like it ought to be familiar." He sneezed again. "Maybe I'm allergic to it or something."

"Hmm." Fraser reclaimed the lump of earth, studying it thoughtfully.

"What?" Ray asked. He and his godson had apparently interrogated the Principal and the security guard to his satisfaction and persuaded them to leave the scene. Fraser was unsurprised; Ray was often quite shameless in making use of his occasionally disconcerting behaviour in such a fashion, and Fraser was beginning to suspect that Merton had a very similar attitude.

"I'm not entirely certain, Ray."

"C'mon, 'fess up, Mountie. The only thing worse than you hmming to yourself like that is when you go 'ah'."

"Ah."

"Now you're just yanking my chain. What is it?"

Fraser looked at the other three seriously. "Does anyone else find it odd that this particular clue is present? The remainder of the burglary suggests that at least a degree of planning was involved, so why leave something with such a strong odour behind?"

Ray's eyes widened. "Almost like he wanted someone with a sharp nose to notice."

Fraser nodded. "Exactly so."

*******

"Jeez, Frase, is that book big enough for you?"

Ray didn't even get the mildest glare of reproval as Fraser cracked open yet another book of what seemed to be random letters and numbers. He felt faintly insulted; that crack was a cut above the whining he'd been doing for most of the afternoon, and it at least deserved some acknowledgement.

Hell, Fraser owed him. First he had given Ray no more than a peck on the cheek last night because he insisted that Ray was incapable of having a quiet orgasm, which might well be true but Ray really didn't care about disturbing cousin Mabel. Fraser then had to top that by dragging Ray along on a research binge over a bit of dirt. The very least he could do was to respond when Ray mocked him.

It wasn't like they needed to be there or anything. Like Ray had said, this is what they had crime labs for these days. Proper cops got the geeks to look this sort of stuff up for them, tell them where it probably came from and what the weirdo herbal stuff Fraser couldn't identify and Ray could barely smell was. Stubborn Mounties insisted on doing it all themselves, like other people weren't paid to do it. Worse, Fraser insisted on doing it by hand, with books. He wouldn't even use a computer. Not that Ray knew how to ask a computer 'Where do I find slightly crumbly dirt around here?' but that was the computer's problem.

"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray!"

"Yeah?" Finally, Ray thought, unclear as to how he had managed get a rise out of Fraser this time. Whatever it was, it was earning him something perilously close to the Fraser Glare of Death, reserved for litterbugs and other offenders against the rightful order of things.

"This is a public library," Fraser said sternly.

"I got that, Frase."

Fraser looked pointedly at where Ray's feet rested comfortably on the edge of the table.

Ray sighed and swung his legs down. He couldn't even be bored to tears in comfort, apparently. "Would it help if I took my boots off?"

"I sincerely doubt... ah, thank you very much, Miss Granger." Fraser smiled broadly as a pretty young librarian handed him a map. She giggled at the attention, brief as it was. She was practically flirting with him, Ray thought disgustedly, which had to be against some sort of natural law or other. He smiled at her too, only showing a lot more teeth, and moved up to stand at Fraser's shoulder. Back off, sister, this one's taken.

Fraser unrolled the map as the librarian made her reluctant exit, studying it pensively. "Curious," he said.

Ray resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What?" he demanded.

"According to the local geological survey data, either our thief came from some fifty miles to the west and managed to preserve a relatively friable piece of earth as he did so, or he came from the local cemetery."

Ray frowned. "You sure 'bout that?"

"Quite sure. The light clay content is unmistakable."

"Weird."

"As I said, Ray."

Ray's frown deepened as he tried to make sense of what Fraser was telling him. "So we got ourselves a perp who hangs out in the graveyard of a town obsessed with werewolves. That's just plain screwy."

"It doesn't sit well with your theory that a member of the school staff committed the crime."

"You know I'm right about that."

Fraser made a little "hmm" sound that Ray had long since learned to interpret as 'Yes, Ray, you are completely right, but it would be utterly irrational of me to actually say so.' He continued to look thoughtful, though.

"Out with it, Frase."

"This crime is making increasingly little sense," Fraser said with a frown. "The evidence left behind at the scene only stands out to someone with a well-honed sense of smell, and leads us to the graveyard which, I might add, is where a majority of the alleged werewolf sightings have taken place."

"So you're saying that some whack-job stole Candleton's Glove to get the attention of something that don't even exist?"

"Or on behalf of the werewolf. Or something more peculiar is going on and is using the local legends as a cover." Fraser swept up his hat from the table and turned towards the door. "Come on, Ray. There's still a little daylight left, we should examine the cemetery while we can."

"Uh-uh," Ray disagreed. "First we are going to eat, on account of you making us skip lunch. Then we are going to change, because there is no way that I'm going let you drag my good suit through all the crap we always end up wading through. Then and only then are we going to go look at Creepsville Central."

Fraser paused for a moment, evidently translating what Ray had said into Canadian. "It'll be well after dark by the time we get there."

"That's why we got these things called flashlights, Frase. We got the time. It's not like anyone in this burg is going to expect people to be wandering round the graveyard in the middle of the night."

******

Tommy walked into the Lair, threw himself onto the couch, then immediately got up and started pacing.

Merton looked up from his computer. "You got away OK, then?"

"Yeah." Tommy stood behind Merton for a moment, spending all of a second reading the screen over his shoulder before stalking off again. "Lori said she'd cover for me for a bit, but everyone bought the line about helping your uncle anyway. Where is he, by the way?"

"Still out with his friend. Becky said they came back briefly and changed clothes, but I think she was mostly trying to get a peek at Mr Fraser's underwear."

"And you weren't?"

"I'm not that kind of boy," Merton said, fluttering his eyelashes at Tommy. "I'm also not stupid enough to get caught oogling at a cop who's come along with my cop relative." He snickered.

Tommy paused. "She didn't?"

"She did," Merton confirmed. "Ma tore a strip off her and threatened to ground her through to her Graduation." He put his hand theatrically to breast and forehead and continued in a wobbly falsetto that sounded nothing like his mother. "'How could you show the family up in front of my cousin.' Uncle Ray nearly hurt himself laughing."

Laughing himself, Tommy sat down. A few moments later he stood up and started pacing again. He'd have known a full moon was coming even if he had been too stupid to read the calendar; he itched. All over.

"Did you find anything else around school?" Merton was openly grinning at him, which Tommy thought was pushing his luck a bit given that Merton knew exactly how he felt at this time of the month. Though if Tommy ever mentioned anything about it, he knew he was just going to get an unflattering comparison to Lori at her time of the month. Sometimes, being in love with a smart-mouthed, tactless goth could be a real pain.

"Nothing," he said eventually. "Or at least nothing I could find without my wolfy nose. We'll have to go back after moonrise."

Merton looked sceptical. "Or we could skip straight to the graveyard," he said.

"Oh no, I am not buying your theory that everything weird in town always leads to the graveyard or the school."

"Name one time it hasn't."

"Besides, this is a burglary not something supernatural."

"Want to bet?" Merton's grin was positively evil as he waved Tommy over to the computer. "Have a look at what I found on the Web."

"You looked up a baseball web site?"

Merton shrugged. "It was something to do. I couldn't spend the whole time thinking of you, someone might have walked in on me." He leered, entirely unnecessarily as far as Tommy was concerned. Much more of this and Tommy wouldn't be able to stop himself wolfing out early and giving Merton something to think about all right.

Tommy peered over Merton's shoulder, trying not to be distracted by having that familiar Merton-scent so close. "Earl Candleton refused to use the glove that made the Series-winning catch again," he read, "claiming it was cursed. 'It's like it was trying to drop the ball,' he told a reporter afterwards. 'I had to fight it all the way, it took me two goes to make that catch.'"

"All the fans who saw it up close and personal said Candleton caught it sweet as a nut," Merton put in.

It was Tommy's turn to look sceptical. "Come on, you can't be serious. Just because the guy got superstitious doesn't mean anything real happened."

"And yet Candleton's Glove ended up in Pleasantville High, home of the spooky."

Tommy rolled his eyes and stalked off round the Lair again. Merton dragged himself away from the computer to intercept Tommy's circuit and sit him down. "Want me to take your mind off things?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows furiously.

Tommy took a deep breath, willing his fingernails not to turn into claws before the moon forced the issue. "Not if you want the couch to survive," he moaned.

"Floor then," Merton commanded, fingers working away at Tommy's jeans. "You need to relax."

Tommy wanted to object that they had work to do, really he did. There was a thief to find, Becky was around the house somewhere, and he was near enough the edge that he couldn't be sure of not hurting Merton. Sadly for this cogent, well-reasoned argument, Merton's tongue abruptly took away his ability to think, never mind speak.

*****

They were in the graveyard.

Merton resisted the temptation to say "I told you so" more often than was strictly necessary, which was at least three times by his reckoning. Tommy somehow failed to appreciate this particular fruit of Merton's genius.

"I mean, when is it not the graveyard around here?" he whispered.

"Plenty of times," Tommy muttered, not bothering to look round.

Merton frowned. Which was an entirely pointless thing to do under the circumstances, since not only was he walking along behind Tommy but it was also dark, which OK wasn't such a big problem for Tommy but see reason one. All the same, Merton reckoned the situation merited a frown.

Merton wasn't a people person at the best of times. His sister would claim that he wasn't a people person at any time, or any other kind of person for that matter, but there she was wrong. If there was one person Merton knew backwards (and forwards and several other very pleasant ways, and that thought really wasn't helping), it was Tommy, and right now something was up with Tommy.

As he stalked along, Tommy's body language wasn't that of a wolfman on the prowl, it was that of a Dawkins struggling with Algebra. Or more likely some other problem, it was just that Merton had most often seen it associated with Algebra texts. Clearly Tommy was trying to puzzle something out, which was Merton's job.

"So what is it?" he asked brightly.

"What's what?"

Oh yeah, like the entire neighbourhood couldn't tell that Tommy was trying to avoid worrying him about something. Except for that fact that this was a graveyard, so the entire neighbourhood were hopefully dead and all, which probably hindered their comprehension, and how had Merton managed to get on this side-track again?

"What is it that's got you thinking so hard you agreed to french T'n'T?" he asked.

"I what?!"

"Ha! I knew you weren't paying attention!"

Tommy glared at him. Hard.

"OK, OK, so you didn't agree to anything, but you're still stalking along and thinking about something at the same time. And that, my friend, is against Union rules. Only us faithful sidekicks are supposed to do the thinking."

This time, Tommy's glare was a lot fonder. "I was wondering about what your uncle said."

"Uncle Ray? So you agree that they are up to something. Ha! See the Dingle genius strike again. Am I right, or am I right? Why else would Uncle Ray turn up now..."

"Merton."

"...bringing with him a wildlife expert who, get this, has his very own wolf..."

"Merton."

"...if he wasn't trying something on about hunting werewolves. Meaning you. I mean, what other possible reason does he have for—"

"Merton!"

"Yes Tommy?"

"No."

Merton paused. Had there been a question somewhere in his gloating? The trouble with being a genius was that you needed a secretary to keep track of what you said, and being Tommy's Igor didn't pay well enough. "No?" he asked, hoping for a clue.

"No," Tommy said very firmly, "I still think he's just here for Graduation. What I'm worried about is what he said about this all being set up for someone with a great sense of smell."

"Oh, that. Someone's setting up a trap for the Pleasantville Werewolf. Didn't we just go through that?"

Tommy rolled his eyes. "No," he said, "we were discussing how you're too paranoid about your uncle to remember that he and Mr Fraser were in the hall with us when the glove was stolen. Now you tell me someone's setting a trap?"

"Uh, sorry. I thought it was obvious, especially since you managed to follow the scent of whatever that was all the way here — are you sure you don't recognise it?"

Tommy looked slightly dazed at the speed of Merton's reasoning. Not that that was unusual; although Tommy had come on intellectually in leaps and bounds in the last year, Merton occasionally needed to be reminded that his boyfriend was at heart a jock. It was one of the things Merton loved about him.

"No," Tommy said eventually, his brain having apparently caught up with the conversation. "All I know is that it's vaguely familiar and I don't like it much. Damn it, I should be able to remember what it is!"

"It's a shame I couldn't get a sample earlier," Merton told him. "At least then I could have done some analysis on it, found out what it was that was setting off your olfactory alarms. Your nose," he added, at Tommy's blank look.

"Uh, yeah. Meanwhile, we're closing in on something that's probably a trap for yours truly. What do I do about it?"

"Don't worry, I have a Plan."

Somehow, Tommy's reaction indicated less than complete faith in Merton's brilliance. Perhaps Merton shouldn't have given the Plan a capital letter this time.

"Now I'm really scared," Tommy muttered almost too quietly for Merton to hear. "OK, what's the plan?"

"It can't fail, really. First, I hang back with my trusty holy water pistol, so if anything happens to you I can cause a distraction while you get free." Tommy looked anything but reassured at this prospect. "It's always worked before," Merton insisted, which made Tommy look a little less sceptical.

"What's the second part?" he asked.

"We'd better wait until we're sure where this trail is leading us for that," Merton said coyly.

Tommy pointed wordlessly at a mausoleum from which torchlight could be seen dancing erratically.

"Ah, yes, that might just be enough."

Tommy sniffed the air. "The smell's getting stronger," he said, and sniffed again. "I can smell more people, and something... wool?"

"The Mountie jacket?" Merton suggested excitedly. "What have I been telling you?"

Tommy rolled his eyes. "You've been telling me your plan had a part two?" he suggested.

Merton sighed and reached into his pocket. Tommy was not going to be amused.


	3. Chapter 3

"You sure 'bout this, Frase?" Ray looked dubiously at where Fraser was kneeling. He trusted his partner, but even after all this time he found it hard to understand how Fraser could tell so much from staring at the dirt.

"Quite certain, Ray. There has been definite activity around this area recently. Our perpetrator has taken some pains to conceal exactly what he has been doing, but he couldn't conceal his presence. In addition, there are faint but detectable traces of the curious herbal odour that was present at the school."

"Huh." Ask a stupid question, Ray thought. It was still hard to believe how much Fraser could get out of this tracking business. If they had been staring at snow, Ray could have understood it. You left whooping great holes in snow no matter what you did, and even Ray could tell the difference between a husky, a caribou and a Mountie walking past. In hard dirt, though... he shook his head. "So we're looking for someone 'bout six foot, a hundred and eighty pounds, hanging around wearing a blue jacket and looking suspicious?"

"No more than a hundred and seventy pounds from the depressions, and you're guessing about the colour of the jacket," Fraser said reproachfully. Which was true, but since Ray had more or less convinced himself that Marsden the security guard was involved right up to his nasty blue uniformed lapels he was almost tempted to challenge Fraser on that one. Sadly, Mounties didn't bet, at least not unless they were going under cover with very particular orders, and Ray had yet to convince Fraser that paying him off in blow-jobs didn't count.

"What's the plan?" he asked. "We hide ourselves away and wait for this mythical werewolf to come along?"

"Whoever it might be, we certainly need to know more about what they are doing in a graveyard before we attempt a citizen's arrest." Fraser looked around, then pointed to a mausoleum clearly visible in the moonlight. "That would seem to offer a good vantage point."

Ray grinned. "Happy memories," he said. Almost the first thing that had happened when he and Fraser had met had been him sitting in a crypt collecting all sorts of weird-ass criminals while Fraser had trusted him completely with Vecchio's rep. That had been one of the things that had made him fall for Fraser, that complete trust freely given and unearned on his part. Happy memories indeed.

Fraser, by his indulgent smile, was thinking along similar lines. "I trust you've remembered where your glasses are this time," he said.

"Never without 'em," Ray said, patting his pocket. "Just as long as I don't gotta wear 'em."

Fraser gave him a long-suffering look, but as usual was too polite to say anything. Instead he turned and moved towards the mausoleum. Ray glided after him, flashlight held low as he tried to avoid treading in any of the graveyard crap that had brought them here in the first place.

He and Fraser had one of their silent arguments when they reached the mausoleum door. Fraser clearly intended to climb on top of the low building, apparently unwilling to disturb the occupants. Ray didn't see why he should have put himself out for some dead guys, and glared his dissent. Fraser indicated the large, solid doors, and more significantly the lock that seemed intended to keep trespassers like them out. Ray raised a booted foot. Fraser glared his own warning, amongst other things that they were trying to maintain a modicum of quiet while staking out the graveyard. Ray pushed the doors gently instead, smirking when they swung open easily. He gestured Fraser in with a little bow.

Fraser stopped suddenly, just as Ray stepped inside. "Ray, do you hear...?"

Ray's gun was in his hand instantly, but things were already going to hell in a handbasket. He saw something thrown into Fraser's face that exploded into dust, sending Fraser reeling in a fit of coughing and sneezing. Tracking around to find the assailant, Ray froze as he felt the familiar shape of a gun poking into his side. "Drop it," a vaguely familiar voice grunted.

Ray swore but complied. There was nothing else to do except to turn his head slightly so that he could see who had the drop on him. Just as he'd expected, Marsden was the one holding the gun. He gave Ray a particularly unpleasant grin and shoved him over to where Fraser was crouched, eyes streaming and still having difficulty breathing. "You OK?" Ray asked quietly.

"I believe I will recover, Ray," Fraser said with a self-control that belied his obvious discomfort. "Unfortunately for the moment my sense of smell is all but useless and my vision is somewhat impaired."

"Like you were going to sniff the bad guys to death anyway," Ray grumbled, hoping that Fraser wouldn't catch the hint of how worried he was. He glared at Marsden, who only smirked harder.

"Looking for this?" Marsden asked, holding up Earl Candleton's catcher's mitt.

"Stealing from your own school?" Ray asked evenly. "That's low, even for a slimeball like you." He'd been hoping to provoke Marsden into doing something stupid, but the man just laughed and kept his gun trained on the pair of them.

"A mere nothing," a second voice said from the darkness.

"Principal Dellinger?" Fraser said with some surprise. There was a moment's scrabbling, then Dellinger was illuminated by his own torch. At least the Mountie super-hearing was still working, Ray thought, and allowed himself to believe that Fraser was going to be OK again. If they ever got out of this stupid Scooby-Doo situation — and God help anyone who tried wearing a rubber mask tonight, Ray really would kick them in the head — he and Fraser were going to have words about ducking the stuff that the bad guys threw.

"As I was saying," Dellinger continued smugly, "Candleton's Glove is merely bait in our little production tonight. Though there is the small matter of its financial value; Marsden, do be sure not to lose it."

"Sure," Ray snarked, "you could make a few bucks for it on E-bay."

Fraser cocked his head in the general direction of the Principal. Ray surreptitiously corrected his facing. "If the glove is bait, may I ask what was your intention in entrapping us?"

"Come now, Constable, the genius of my plan should be obvious to you now that you have fallen into it. Only your nose could have followed the trail Marsden laid into this crypt, and only you would be so affected by my cunningly designed wolvesbane 'grenades.'"

"Your what?" Ray asked, confused.

"Wolvesbane or Wolf's Bane, Ray," Fraser told him, "more commonly known as Aconite or Monkshood. It was long believed to be extremely poisonous to wolves... oh dear."

"And now I will live in the pages of history as the man who captured the Pleasantville Werewolf!"

"Oh dear," Fraser repeated.

"You're nuts," Ray said bluntly. Dellinger coloured angrily.

"What Ray means," Fraser said hastily, "is there are a number of obvious logical flaws in your conclusion."

"What Ray meant," Ray muttered under his breath, "is that you're a raving nut-job who makes Frannie look restrained."

"Three things in particular stand out," Fraser continued as if he hadn't heard the commentary. "First, I have never visited Pleasantville before this week. In fact, if I recall the dates of the werewolf sightings correctly, I have been in Chicago for the vast majority of those occurances. My whereabouts on those occasions can usually be vouched for by a number of fine upstanding law enforcement officers."

Ray stood up straight and tried to look legal, honest and decent, or at least honest. Marsden snickered.

"My second and more readily verifiable point is that tonight is a full moon, and furthermore I am standing in the moonlight." Which he was, so Ray figured that his eyes couldn't be all that bad. "According to the werewolf legends I should be compelled to turn into a wolf under these conditions, yet I remain human."

"I am not such a fool as to think that legends are always accurate," Dellinger said disdainfully, "otherwise I might be mislead into believing that vampires can fly. You had a third point?"

"That would be me," said a voice from the doorway.

It was a young man in a Pleasantville High letter jacket, and so help him when this was all done with Ray was going to kick him in the head. The kid was dressed up as a werewolf, with all the stuck-on fur and fangs and even yellow contact lenses Ray had ever seen in a movie theatre. He was also about to get perforated, Ray realised, as Marsden's gun tracked round towards him.

Fraser was already moving, reacting way faster than Ray even if he was still a bit teary-eyed, charging towards Marsden in an effort to stop the inevitable shooting. Ray really started to panic as the gun moved back; the stupid Mountie was about to put himself in the line of fire again, and this time Ray wasn't wearing a vest to throw himself in the way.

Then Ray blinked as wolf-boy moved faster than anyone had a right to, throwing Marsden to the ground before he could shoot anyone. Fraser charged right on in with a polite "Excuse me," landing a good solid punch of his own as Marsden struggled back upright. The gun went flying, and Ray breathed a sigh of relief.

Ray caught Candleton's Glove on pure reflex as it too flew out of Marsden's grasp. Fraser and the kid seemed to have the guard under control, so he figured it was his job to make sure that Dellinger wasn't trying to sneak off or something.

The Principal seemed to be working on the 'or something' part as Ray turned towards him. He was pulling something small out of his pocket and preparing to throw it at the melee. Another one of those sneezy dust-balls, Ray realised. He couldn't let that hit Fraser; one had been bad enough, and he really didn't need the Mountie out of it in the middle of a fight.

As Dellinger threw, Ray dived. The glove slipped onto his hand almost without thinking, and time seemed to slow as he stretched out to intercept the ball. For a moment he was sure that he had missed it — he could hear the cries of Fraser and the kid as it hit, the sharp bark of Marsden's gun as it ended everything — then it slapped firmly into his palm, shattered and showered Ray with dust.

Ray hit the ground and lay there for a moment relishing the catch. Then he rolled to his feet and faced the worried-looking Dellinger again. "You and me," he snarled, stalking forwards, "we're gonna have a little conversation about throwing things at people."

Dellinger gave a little whimper and ran for the door. Ray ran after him, yelling furiously. He vaguely noticed Fraser saying that he had Marsden restrained, and the kid running past him like he was standing still, but Dellinger reached the crypt door first. The Principal half-turned to slam it shut on them, but bounced off something Ray couldn't see.

"Sorry," said the something, "oops, fancy meeting you here sir, oh look is that..."

Then the kid tackled Dellinger to the ground and the voice cut off in an undignified squawk. Ray arrived outside to see wolf-boy holding down Dellinger, who was partly lying on Merton Dingle. A small spurt of dust was settling around them.

"Ow," Merton said feebly.

"Junior, what're you doing out here?" Ray asked brusquely.

"Oh, hi Uncle Ray. Nice night, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh. We'll talk about this later. In the mean time you," he said to Dellinger, fishing out his handcuffs, "are gonna have a nice little ride down to the station."

Dellinger was staring at the kid. "How?" he asked. "Even that small amount of the wolvesbane dust should have had you helpless."

"Wolvesbane? Of course!" Merton exclaimed, confirming Ray's suspicion that he knew a lot more about what was going here than he was letting on. "Brilliant idea, I should have realised... aaaaand I'm shutting up now," he said, wilting under the combined glares of all present.

The kid just smiled, and Ray started as his eyes actually glowed yellow. He raised his head, showing the cotton wool stuffed up his nostrils. "Nose plugs," he said smugly.

******

**Epilogue**

Tommy's smile was beginning to feel a little forced, even to him. He'd had a feeling all wasn't going well, that was why he'd shown up at the Lair first thing in the morning. When he'd arrived a frantic Merton had kissed him thoroughly, then babbled nineteen to the dozen about how his Uncle Ray and Constable Fraser were suspicious about him being a werewolf and Tommy ought to get out of town right this instant before they decided to capture him. He then proved that 'right this instant' didn't actually mean 'right this instant' by kissing Tommy thoroughly again, more or less leaping away when there was a knock on the door, and opening it before Tommy had a chance to get his head together, never mind slip out of the window.

Now Merton was excitedly 'explaining' to Tommy just what had gone on last night, incidentally playing up his own part enormously, and Tommy was trying to smile and nod and look amazed in all the right places. He was pretty sure it wasn't working.

Fraser did actually look somewhat bemused at the constant barrage of words Merton was subjecting them to. Ray Kowalski on the other hand seemed to be mostly amused, looking like he was happy waiting for Merton to exhaust himself. Whatever they were thinking, he wasn't getting any nasty vibes from them; they didn't seem like they were measuring him up for jail cell, scientific experimentation or general supernatural nastiness. And they hadn't made a fuss when Tommy had headed off last night before the police arrived. He had even heard Kowalski loudly saying that his official report wasn't going to mention anything about guys with hair problems and freaky glowing eyes.

"Merton," Fraser began uncertainly.

"And then he headed off into the night," Merton continued, still so hyper that he made Tommy tired just listening to him, "which I know sounds like a bad movie, but that's exactly what he did. And hey, come to think of it that would make a great movie script. I know they didn't like my last script..."

"Knock it off, Junior," Kowalski said, "we need to talk."

"...but I missed the android sorority girl wave. Maybe werewolves catching robbers movies are in at the moment. Or, aha, people dressing up as werewolves catching robbers. Like Batman, you know, only not?"

Tommy could see Fraser and Kowalski's good humour starting to fade. "Merton!" he said sharply.

"What?"

"Mr Fraser wanted to say something."

"Oh. Why didn't you say so."

"He's definitely related to you," Fraser murmured, wiping the smile off Kowalski's face.

Kowalski glared at his partner briefly, then turned back to Merton. "Tommy here don't need you to tell him everything, does he?"

"I don't?" Tommy tried gamely.

"You are still wearing the same clothes as last night," Fraser pointed out. "Also now I'm paying attention to it, your scent is somewhat wolf-like in character. I'm afraid I'm letting city living make me sloppy, I really should have noticed that earlier."

"Oh no you don't," Kowalski said quickly. "You do not get to talk me into going out into the Great White North when it's my turn to pick the vacation."

Merton looked briefly as bemused as Tommy was at this exchange, then stepped protectively in front of Tommy. "What are you going to do about it?" he asked pointedly.

Fraser seemed a little confused by the question. "Is there something we should do?" he asked, apparently in all innocence.

Kowalski rolled his eyes. "What Junior means is 'Are we gonna lock you up or something?' Now why the hell would we want to do something like that? You helped to catch the bad guys, as far as I'm concerned you're OK."

"And all the reports suggest that the Pleasantville Werewolf makes a habit of taking care of the more unusual events that seem to happen here," Fraser added. "So no, we are not intending to inform anyone else as to your particular circumstances."

"That's it?" Merton asked.

Tommy clamped a hand over his mouth before he could say anything else. "What my incredibly tactless friend meant to say is thank you very much, we're very grateful that you aren't saying anything about me to anyone." Merton nodded as best he could with Tommy's hand in the way. Tommy removed it once he was fairly sure Merton wasn't about to say anything else.

Kowalski smiled broadly. "If you're ever in Chicago, look us up."

"Indeed," Fraser echoed, "you should stay with us if you do visit the city. Ray allows me the use of his spare bedroom, but I'd be quite happy to cede it to one of you and sleep on my bedroll. I'm also given to understand that Ray's couch makes a moderately comfortable bed."

It sounded like Fraser was practically planning their itinerary. Tommy shared a rueful smile with Merton, knowing that he'd be the one banished to the couch. It was good of Fraser to offer, though, and they'd never be able to afford hotel room rates if they did want to see the big city. They'd just have to find somewhere quiet when they wanted some together time. "That's very kind," he began.

"You know, Frase," Kowalski interrupted thoughtfully, "I don't think they'd be disturbing us if they shared the bedroom." He was staring narrowly at the pair of them, and Tommy began to worry if there were any rules about sleeping with someone's nephew — cousin — whatever — that he needed to know about, because he was very much afraid that Kowalski might just have figured out his other secret.

Fraser blinked. "Well, I suppose they could use my bedroll and I could—"

"No, Frase, I mean I don't think they would be disturbing us," Kowalski said slowly and meaningfully. It was an odd way of putting it, Tommy thought, unless...

"Oh," Fraser said, then "Excuse me," as he leaned forward to sniff at first Tommy and then Merton.

"Hey!" Merton exclaimed. "Just because you got to me before I made it to the shower doesn't mean..." He trailed off as Tommy put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Oh!" Fraser said again. "No, Ray, I don't imagine they will." He looked a little surprised.

"So there'll be no more talk about couches and bedrolls," Ray said firmly, and Tommy almost laughed at the expression on Fraser's face.

"I don't think you'll be disturbing us, either," he told the Mountie. Ray's grin was all the confirmation he needed.

"What?" Merton asked.

Tommy smiled at him indulgently, then with a polite "Excuse me" because it seemed like the right thing to say, he leaned over and sniffed at the older men. Nada. "Could you really smell, um, us together?" he asked Fraser, who nodded. "Man, you've got to teach me how to smell stuff like that without going all furry."

Merton opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish for a moment. "You mean they...? Uncle Ray and...? Oh, I am so not thinking about this."

"Hey," Ray said, mercifully stopping Merton from saying something about how older people having sex was gross. "You turning down a chance to go somewhere you're guaranteed no one is going to tell your Mom what you get up to?"

"When can we come?"


End file.
